


What's In A Name?

by akadefenders



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Banter, Bickering, Black Character(s), Canon Character of Color, Coda, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Female Character of Color, Minor Character Death, POV Female Character, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Post Episode: s01e03 All The World's A Stage, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 22:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11262405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akadefenders/pseuds/akadefenders
Summary: After the events of her betrothal, Rosaline can't sleep. When she ventures for a midnight stroll to ease her mind, she meets the one person she'd rather not meet at all.





	What's In A Name?

Rosaline lay awake for hours that night. Despite the exhaustion of the day, sleep did not take her, no matter how many times she tossed and turned. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see Truccio’s supine body sprawled across the cobblestone and his blood-filled mouth promising the coming of war. Her heart pounded too loudly in her chest and her breath came in short gasps.

She knew Verona was already on the precipice of war but the fact that an outside force was edging it even closer was worrying. Her mind briefly drifted to Escalus and the difficulties he was facing before she firmly pushed both him and Verona out of her mind. It was Escalus’ duty to take care of the future of Verona, but she had to take care of her own future. He had made his choice, closing the door on any relationship the two of them might have had. He had insulted and humiliated her, used Livia as a pawn in his political game, and blackmailed her into a futureless marriage. He had called her a harlot. And what’s more was that he had the audacity to accuse her of torturing him when she was the one whose agency had been forcibly taken away.

Filled with anger at Escalus, Rosaline gave up on sleep as a lost cause, sliding out of bed. She wandered over to the window, staring up at the night sky as the warm Veronian night breeze carried the scent of lilies into her room. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself. It had just been an accident. Neither she nor the Montague had actually tried to kill Truccio – he had fallen as a result of his own hasty actions. Besides, he had just detonated an explosive that had taken countless lives. And the Montague was right – he had tried to rape her. Her only regret was being unable to question his motives further.

But then why could she not let it go? She had experienced death before, having seen the dead body of her father in front of her own eyes. She had grieved, experienced loss and supported Livia then. But this was different, more immediate, and a direct result of her actions. She felt choked by the room she was in, trapped by her surroundings and circumstances. She needed to get out. Wrapping herself in a black cloak and taking Juliet’s hidden key, she let herself out of her room and stole away into the night.

Her exit from the Capulet mansion was a hasty but careful one. She balked at shadows and grew silent and still at the slightest noise. If she was caught, she knew that her uncle would be angry, and then what of their deal to elevate Livia’s status to that of a Lady? Once outside the mansion gates, she felt like she could breathe normally. She proceeded to the river’s edge with her hood up, sticking to the darkest parts of the city. The king’s guards patrolled at regular intervals and she wished to avoid them, especially in light of recent events.

She knew not of the time of night but the moon was round and high in the sky when she reached the riverbank. She walked to the marble gazebo she loved to sit at with Livia and Juliet. However as she drew closer, she saw movement and froze. Someone was there and looking directly at her.

“And what brings you here tonight, Capulet?’

The voice was quiet, tired yet lilting – filled with amusement. She could have recognised it anywhere. Benvolio Montague.

“I could ask you the same question, Montague,” she replied, walking over to the gazebo and sliding onto the bench next to him.

“Well, I suggest you don’t because like you, I don’t have an answer.” His tone was by no means rude but it was clear he did not wish to engage in conversation. This suited her well enough since she had no desire to share her innermost thoughts with a Montague.

She focused her attention to the scene around her, lowering her hood. It was a beautiful night, taken straight from a storybook her mother used to read to her as a child. Were it not for the fateful events of the day, Verona seemed like an idyllic place to live. The river slumbered, splashing gently onto the embankment, reflecting the shining light of the moon. The soft breeze was stronger outside and removed all traces of the day’s heat. And there was a soft perfume in the air. She breathed deeply, trying to ascertain the scent. It wasn’t lilies – it was something far deeper and more masculine. She stopped. It was the Montague. Mortified, her cheeks reddened and she stared at the river hoping and praying he hadn’t noticed.

“You know, it has come to my attention that I owe you an apology, Capulet,” he said quietly after a moment.

Rosaline turned, hiding her shock. She didn’t believe any Montague had the ability to be humble and apologise. His face was shadowed, only a sliver of it visible in the moonlight.

“That day when the Prince told us to marry, I called you a harpy. I was angry, upset and caught off guard. It was wrong of me. I apologise,” he said, turning to face her.

“Apology accepted,” she murmured, trying to understand the motives behind his actions. The Montague was a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. As she turned back to stare at the riverside, she thought of Livia’s question. _Is he kind?_ She honestly had no answer. He was abrasive, uncouth and rude like all Montagues were. Full of himself and his power, and always willing to play the hero. Yet, every so often, she would glimpse a moment of genuine goodness within him. His willingness to help her become a nun. The way he had protected her in the city square. His apology tonight. He confounded her.

"That was quite some poem you sent to me, Montague. Although I must say that it was a bit too cheesy for my liking," she said, changing the subject.

"If you must know, I didn't write it," he said.

"Typical Montague behaviour. Taking credit for someone else's work," she said, smirking.

"Typical Capulet behaviour. Always ungrateful for the things you are given."

"I never asked for that poem!"

"Neither did I!"

There was a pause where they both glared at each other.

"In any case, perhaps we should take greater care to know certain things about one another if we are to pretend to be in love,” he commented, pulling an unattractive face.

“You should be lucky to know anything about me,” she shot back. “Besides, we are going to find whoever is pushing Verona to the brink of war and unite our families against a common enemy. We will not be married.”

He made a noise in agreement.

“And while that is a good plan, in the meantime, we still have to play this game we have been pushed into,” he said.

She looked at him, trying to understand exactly what he wanted from her. She relented.

“Alright, what would you like to know?”

They spent the rest of the night exchanging details about one another, never straying from the vapid and the superficial. She found out the Montague liked art, the colour black, and grapes. The few times they strayed towards a subject with any depth such as Truccio’s death, Romeo and Juliet, or Veronian political affairs, they brought the conversation back to lighter topics. She was aware that she would have to face her grief and loss eventually but tonight she was content to speak with a complete stranger that she hated about the most frivolous of topics.

Eventually, the sky began to lighten. Rosaline stood quickly. She had lost track of time speaking to the Montague. In an hour or two, the whole mansion would be awake and she would be discovered. Perhaps this was his plan all along, to distract her so she would be caught.

“Did you plan this Montague?” she asked.

“Whatever do you mean?” he replied, standing up.

“Did you make me stay here all night so I would be caught out upon my return?”

“Of course not! How dare you accuse me of such a thing? Besides Capulet, you know full well that I was here first,” he shot back.

Glaring at him in mistrust, she gathered her cloak and replaced her hood. She turned to leave but was stopped by his hand around her arm.

“What is it?” she asked, exasperated.

“Allow me to walk you home, it is dangerous around Verona these days and a Lady like you should not walk home unescorted.”

He looked distinctly uncomfortable and as though he was going against his own instincts. Here it was again – a bid at playing the hero or a moment of genuine kindness? Livia’s voice haunted her. _Is he kind?_

“Thank you for your concern Montague but I am capable of making it home on my own. I shall see you another time.”

As she left the gazebo and walked away from the riverbank, she couldn’t help but turn back to glance at the Montague once more. He had turned back to stare at the riverbank once more, his body silhouetted against the faint light on the horizon. She stared for a moment then turned back towards the Capulet mansion and her life.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in 40 minutes but i just couldn't get it out of my head because witnessing a death (no matter of how repulsive a human being) would be a traumatic event + i love the enemies to lover trope and i had to contribute! please leave a comment! you can find me on tumblr [here](http://www.akadefenders.tumblr.com)


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